Sanar
by EowynDernhelm
Summary: Lirael's daughter must find her identity in the complicated world of the Old Kingdom. Please R&R!
1. Default Chapter

This is my first Lirael fanfiction and I would appreciate if you would review it! J

*****************************

"Mummy, what's this?" asked a dark haired five-year-old girl, pointing at her mother's bedstead.  "Those are my bells, honey," replied her mother, who had the same dark hair.  "Bells?" the little girl asked.  "For what?"  Her mother smiled knowingly and tousled her daughter's hair.  "You'll know that someday, but not today."  The child was about to pop another question when a member of the Royal Guard came into the room.  "Milady," he said, bowing to the woman.  "The King and Queen would like a word with you."  The woman, who displayed across her chest that she carried the bells of a necromancer, rushed to the doorway.  "You stay here, Sanar."  The little girl nodded vigorously.  "Me 'n Berel can play," she said, motioning to the guard, who jumped a little at the thought of it.  "Milady, I—"

"You are a member of the Royal Guard, aren't you?  Then stay with Sanar until I get back."  The guard mumbled some obscenity and sat down with the little girl.  "Oh goody!" she cried, not even noticing her mother walk away.

*  *  *

 "Lirael," said the Queen, smiling at the corners of her mouth.  "I've been wanting a word with you."  Lirael was always happy to talk with the Queen, her half-sister, Sabriel.  "Sabriel," she nodded curtly.  Sabriel's dark hair was tossed about her shoulders.  "Perhaps we should discuss this with Touchstone as well."

"What's it about?" asked Lirael curiously.  She was only twenty-seven, and the forty-six year old Sabriel was much wiser.

"Sanar's upbringing," she said calmly.  "Vara," she said, turning to a female bodyguard.  "Will you summon the King?"  Vara nodded and walked away.  "I suppose we should wait for Touchstone.  He'll want some say in this," said Sabriel.

"What do you need to talk about Sanar for?" asked Lirael suspiciously.  Sabriel always meant well, but it was a widespread fact that the females of this family were known to be very bossy.  "Actually, Ellimere might do well in hearing this, too," mused Sabriel.  "Perhaps we should invite Sam and make it a family reunion," muttered Lirael under her breath.  Sabriel heard, however, and laughed.  "No, we needn't invite Sam.  Or Ellimere, really.  It can just be you, me, and Touchstone." 

At that moment, Touchstone came out of his quarters, still buttoning up his shirt.  "Ah, Lirael, you're here.  We wanted to talk with you about—"

"Sanar's upbringing, I know," said Lirael, and at the exact same moment Sabriel said, "Sanar's upbringing, she knows."  They grinned at each other and Lirael glanced at Touchstone, silently asking him to complete his train of thought.  He was taken aback by the seeming telepathy between them so Sabriel continued.  "If she is to become the Abhorsen one day, we must do something about it soon.  My suggestion is that she go to school in Ancelstierre.  Wyverly—"

"I don't want her in Ancelstierre.  It's too far removed from everything:  magic, family—"

"Dead," said Touchstone dryly.  "Look, I don't like the fact of Sanar being separated from you, either, but Ancelstierre is the safest place for her to be, at the moment."

Lirael's golden fingers wrapped around the folds of her surcoat.  The coat was decorated with the Stars of the Clayr and the Keys of the Abhorsen: the surcoat of a Remembrancer.  Her nephew, Sam, had made the hand for her after…but it was not the time to recall such things as Orannis.  He, after all, was in the past.  Sanar, however, now lay in the present and future.  "What if she's a Clayr?" asked Lirael desperately.  She did not want Sanar going into Ancelstierre, where so many bad memories lay…

"She cannot be a Clayr," said Sabriel dismissively.  "If she was, there would be no fifty-fourth Abhorsen.  The line of the Abhorsens would simply die out, unless her child was an Abhorsen, but the Blood does not often skip generations."  Lirael bit her lip.  Secretly she knew that Sanar would become the Abhorsen, and that she would never gain the Sight.  Lirael might have been a Daughter of the Clayr, however Sightless she was, but Sanar was a Daughter of the Abhorsen.  "Very well," choked Lirael.  "Sanar will go to Wyverly."


	2. Chapter Two

Please review!!!!!!

Disclaimer:  I don't own any of the characters (they belong to Garth Nix) except for the ones I invent, which would be maybe Sanar except not her name.

_Ancelstierre_

_Thirty-ninth year of the restoration of King Touchstone I_

_Dear Mother,_

_Your last letter arrived with deep sorrow.  I am sorry that Aunt Sabriel has gone missing, but feared dead?  I think, or at least hope, that is not the case.  She is a woman of infinite resource, like yourself, and will find her way out of whatever predicament she may be in.  She did, after all, defeat Kerrigor, Chlorr, and Orannis!  Well, perhaps it was more _you_ who defeated Orannis, but she helped big time.  Will they instate you as Abhorsen soon?  That means they think Sabriel is dead.  I wonder if they will also instate Ellimere as Queen?  She obviously has the skill for it.  You have not told me much of Sam lately.  How is he?  If you can, will you at least invite me to the Old Kingdom soon?  You always come here, and I have not been to Belisaere or anywhere else since I was six!  I cannot remember anything very clearly.  Please, Mother?  Well, I think that's all I have to say for now._

_Love,_

_            Sanar_

P.S.  Last night I had a funny dream.  I saw myself in a weird sort of hall, and I was all in white and had something on my head.  In normal circumstances, I wouldn't bother you with this, but it felt so real, and you say dreams are a portal to Death, so I figured I should tell you.  It wasn't just a normal dream.  Does it mean something?

P.P.S.  You never told me what I'm named for.  All the other girls have never heard of calling someone Sanar.  They say it sounds weird (I have learned that, in Ancelstierre, supposedly naming a girl a name ending in the letter "r" is something that is never done.  They think it sounds funny).  It's not that I'm really bothered by it.  I was just wondering.

            Sanar reread what she had written.  It sounded good enough, at least for a twelve-year-old girl.  Since she only got letters from her mother, Lirael, at infrequent times (sometimes once a month, other times once a year), there was a good excuse that it was just a jumble of thoughts.  Neither Sanar nor Lirael had ever been very good letter-writers, so Lirael made sure that she visited at least three times a year.   But now, since Sabriel's disappearance, Sanar was getting fewer letters than ever before.  She supposed it was natural, being the Abhorsen—Abhorsen-in-Waiting, she corrected mentally.   Lirael was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, until the current Abhorsen, Sabriel, died, and Sanar drilled into her mind the words Sabriel is not dead.  Only missing.  According to Lirael's last letter, Sabriel had left month ago, saying only that she was going to Callibe to face a stubborn Mordaut.  Sanar knew that Mordauts were easy to banish, although never having done it herself, and that Sabriel would not go elsewhere without telling anyone.  No one in Callibe had seen her since she'd arrived, and reportedly no one had seen her return.  She shivered at the idea.  Sanar broke out of her thought cycle and sealed the letter with red hot wax, marked with a "W" for "Wyverly".  Wyverly College was where Sanar attended, a third-generation Wyverlite.  Her aunt Sabriel had gone there, and after that Sanar's cousin Ellimere, although Ellimere was more the age of Lirael than Sanar (thirty-eight).  Lirael herself had lived in the Glacier of the Clayr until she was nineteen, believing herself to be one, until she found out that she was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, and the Remembrancer.  Sanar would inherit the bells of the Abhorsen when Lirael and Sabriel had both perished.  She supposed that she was now the Abhorsen-in-Waiting-in-Waiting, because if both Sabriel and Lirael led long lives, Sanar might not get to be the Abhorsen until she was forty.  Sabriel was nearly sixty, in any case.  Lirael was almost forty and had not become the Abhorsen yet, but was the Remembrancer.  A few more years and she might never become an Abhorsen.  If that happened, what would become of Sanar?  Would she finish school and then just become—a royal attendant or something?  Perhaps a Royal Guard, like Touchstone had been, or one of the "daughters".  But she was not either of those.  She was an Abhorsen—twice in waiting.  Two Abhorsens would have to die before she would get her turn to bind the Dead.  Sanar blotted the tick, handmade paper with ink that had the solidity of blood, although it was black.  She pranced out of her dormitory.  "Sula!" she cried.  "Sula!"  A tall, golden-topped girl emerged from a room, hair sharply contrasting with Sanar's dark locks.  Sula could have been a Clayr, from Lirael's descriptions of them: blonde, tan-skinned, and beautiful.  The "Fourth Form" badge on her chest showed that she was maybe fourteen of fifteen.  She was wearing her school uniform, a Junior Prefect badge, her school badge, and a Junior Postal Clerk badge.  "Sula," said Sanar.  "I need you to give this to Mrs. Lydsin.  It's a letter for the Old Kingdom."  Sula scoffed.  "Who's a Second Form writing to in the Old Kingdom?  It doesn't exist, silly.  And even if it did exist, who'd a Second Form be writing to anyways?"

            "My mother," said Sanar, teeth clenched.  "She lives in Belisaere."

            "Belly-what?" asked Sula.  "I suppose you think you know the Royal family, too?"

            "I do," said Sanar quietly.  "And the Abhorsen."

"Everybody knows that the Old Kingdom's just a joke, told to little kids to scare them.  I suppose you still believe it."

"It's not a fairy tale," growled Sanar, anger rising inside of her.  "I can show you, if you want.  It's just across the Wall." 

"There's nothing across the Wall.  I suppose you think you have a family, too?"  Sanar's eyes filled with tears as she snatched the letter away from Sula.  "I'll deliver it myself!" she cried, and ran off.  Sula was known to be mean to the younger girls.  Everyone knew there was an Old Kingdom, but some refused to believe it, including Sula.  Sanar raced to the College Postal Office and nearly ran into Mrs. Lydsin, the Supervisor of the Junior Postal Clerks.  "Sanar," she said, smiling warmly.  "What a pleasant surprise.  What can I help you with?"

"I need you to mail this letter.  It's to my mother."  She handed the letter to Mrs. Lydsin, and the older woman began to chuckle.  "Why, Sanar," she said, helpless to a fit a laughing.  "There's no address on here."  Sanar swore, causing Mrs. Lydsin to say, "Sanar!"  Sanar turned bright red and asked for a bottle of handmade ink.  "I won't put you in extra chores for your little slip o' the tongue this time, Sanar, but if it happens again you will have a month's worth of extra kitchen duties.  Now, come over here," said Mrs. Lydsin, beckoning Sanar to her desk.  "This is where I keep my personal supplies," she explained.  "I always keep materials for letters to the Old Kingdom.  Here's the ink, and a quill pen."  Sanar hastily scratched on the envelope.  It read:

Remembrancer Lirael

Royal Palace

Belisaere

Old Kingdom

"Now you'll need to give me the postal fee," said Mrs. Lydsin.  Sanar pulled a silver denier out of her pocket.  "There," she said.  "Take the money and mail my letter.  And make sure it goes fast."  Mrs. Lydsin nodded, and Sanar sped off, passing countless rows of girls sorting the mail, all with a "Junior Postal Clerk" badge on their uniforms.

*  *  *

…It's not that I'm really bothered by it.  I was just wondering.

Lirael put down her daughter's letter in astonishment.  Most of the letter had been questions, feeling, or hopeful statements.  It was the first postscript that had drawn Lirael's attention.  

"Last night I had a funny dream," Lirael read aloud.  "I saw myself in a weird sort of hall, and I was all in white and had something on my head.  In normal circumstances, I wouldn't bother you with this, but it felt so real, and you say dreams are a portal to Death, so I figured I should tell you.  It wasn't just a normal dream.  Does it mean something?"  Lirael was troubled, for she was positive she knew what it meant, but it couldn't be.  What did Sanar's innocent postscript remind her of?  She barely even had to think to recall the torture she had endured all through her teenage years, in the Glacier of the Clayr.  A small figure, clad all in white, with the crown of moonstones on her head, walking down the hall to join countless ranks of Clayr.  But Sanar was supposed to be the Abhorsen, she reminded herself, casting her mind back to the talk she had engaged in seven years ago with Touchstone and Sabriel.  Sabriel would have known what to do now, but all hope on her had failed. Touchstone was trying to run the country while grieving for his wife, but had been suffering from stress terribly in the past few weeks.  Ellimere would take the throne soon, but she was out touring (Touchstone's way of saying that she was finding suitors).  Lirael needed someone's help:  Sabriel was dead, Touchstone sick, and Ellimere unavailable.  Lirael hadn't seen Sam in years, and he was dead to peasant's ears, except for the fact that he had told his relatives that he was going to Estwael to try and find more Wallmaker relicts.  Lirael knew he was alive, because he occasionally sent letters, and she just sensed it in her mind.  But whom was she going to talk with, then?  An idea sprung into her mind.  She would talk with Sanar—the first one.     


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer:  I don't own anyone except for Sanar (sort of), Niala, the teachers, and nobody else.  Everything else belongs to the mastermind: Garth Nix.

!@#$%^&*()!@#$%^&*()!@#$%^&*()!@#$%^&*()

Lirael strapped on the goggles, green-tinted, and wrapped herself in oilskin.  She bound her black hair back, and settled herself in the cockpit of the Paperwing.  The straps were fastened in an "X" on her chest.  The aircraft was, indeed, made out of thousands of sheets of laminated paper, but it still supported her weight.  In her head, she summoned the Charter marks for "wind", "travel", and "speed" and cast them out.  "Finet!  Andec! Rau!" she cried, and the Paperwing started to rise.  She summoned an eastern wind with a small whistle, one that would carry her all the way to the Glacier.  The breeze tried to take hold of and control the Paperwing, but she gripped it firmly, not letting it go off course.  She grabbed the soapstone dog in her pocket to bring out her own courage, but it was not there.  She cursed loudly.  She had never taken it out of her pocket.  Ever.  She had left the soapstone dog back at the palace, and now she was in the air.  "I've left you!" she cried frantically, but couldn't delay because the Paperwing was already moving.  

"Left me?" said a familiar voice beside her.  "I don't think so."  Lirael turned to see a tan-and-black dog sitting on the seat by her.  She gasped.

"Dog!" she cried, letting up her whistled Charter marks to hug the Dog.  "Dog!  Dog!"

"You're letting the controls wreak havoc," remarked the Disreputable Dog dryly.  "You'd better get them or we'll be in the ocean before you can say 'Disreputable'."  Lirael calmed herself, still smiling brightly, and summoned more wind from the east   "Why are you going _that_ way?" asked an annoyed Dog.  "Get a northern wind so we can go to Ancelstierre."

"But—But—we're not going to—" Lirael began to say, or rather yell, above the whipping wind.

"Yes, we are.  Now, what's for dinner?"

"Dinner?!" exclaimed Lirael.  "We're in a Paperwing to the Glacier and you want to know what's for dinner?!" she said, but reminded herself that the Dog's first words had been 'I am the Disreputable Dog. Or Disreputable Bitch, if you want to get technical.  When are we going for a walk?', proving that the Dog could change the subject to her liking in an instant.  

The Dog looked confused.  "Yes," she said slowly.  "Is there something wrong with that?  And, by the way, we're going to Ancelstierre, not the Glacier."

"Dog!  We're going to the Glacier!  You don't even know what we're going there for!

"Yes, I do," said the Disreputable Dog smugly.  "I read your letters."

A wave of exasperation came over Lirael, and she wondered how many times she had told the Disreputable Dog not to go in people's rooms while they were sleeping, and not to read people's personal letters.  "Why would we go to Ancelstierre anyways?" she shouted.  "We're going to visit the Clayr!"

"But we need to visit Sanar, or she'll feel left out.  Remember when you were fourteen?  You didn't want to feel left out."

"Yes, but—"

"No buts.  We're going to Ancelstierre."  The Dog let out a wild bark that contrasted sharply with the Paperwing's whistle, causing it to turn due south, and reminding Lirael that the Dog, just like Kibeth, was not everything she seemed to be.

*  *  *

            "Sanar, Sanar, wake up!  You're going to be late for Science!"  The dark haired girl lay in bed, unmoving, while another girl with red hair leaned over her, shaking her frantically.  "Sanar!  Now!"  The girl in bed rolled over.

            "Not now, Mummy," she mumbled.  The other girl slapped Sanar on the cheek and pulled her out of bed.  "Ow!" cried Sanar.  "Niala, what'd you do that for?"  The girl called Niala pointed at the clock, and Sanar gasped.  She swore something that Niala had never heard before; an Old Kingdom curse, no doubt.  She pulled on her uniform and clumsily pinned her badge on her chest (any girl seen without that badge during school hours would get extra chores).  She ran a wooden comb through her hair and grabbed a biscuit that she quickly stuffed in her mouth.  "Go now!" she said, mouth full of bread.  She pulled on her shoes in a clownish manner and raced out the door.  "Quick!" she yelled.  She tripped over her ankle and stumbled down the hall to the Science Wing; Niala followed at a run.  The door to the Science class was ajar—if they could just make it…Sanar stumbled over the threshold, causing Niala to trip over her own robes and come clattering down on top of her, creating a tangled mess of bodies.

            Sanar smiled weakly as their Science teacher, Mrs. Aranchal, cast a glare over to the doorway.  "Sanar, Niala," she said briskly.  "You're late."

"I know," murmured Sanar, keeping her eyes to the ground.  Mrs. Aranchal was known for doling out strict punishments, and being late was one of the worst offences.  

"Do you have your homework?" asked Mrs. Aranchal, her graying hair tousled.

"Homework?" repeated Sanar indignantly.  She looked at Niala, who just shrugged.  "What homework?"

Mrs. Aranchal eyed them both with colorless brown eyes under spectacles.  "I asked you to write a 600 word report on the stages of mitosis.  Do you have it?"

Sanar struck her head with her palm.  The report…of course.  How could she have forgotten?  "Oops," she said quietly.

"Oops," repeated Mrs. Aranchal, loud enough for everyone to hear.  "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"  Sanar slowly nodded.  "Then get to your seat.  You both have a week's worth of extra cleaning duties."

Sanar and Niala silently took their places in the dusty classroom.  Mrs. Aranchal was amazingly strict about tardiness in her classroom, but even stricter about turning in assignments.  Sanar had been planning to do the report on mitosis last night, but was up late studying, so had told herself that she would wake up early and finish the work.  The only flaw with that plan was that she had overslept.  She looked around, trying to slink back in her seat as much as possible.  Suddenly, Mrs. Aranchal clapped her hands together and barked, "Sanar!  Bad posture!  Sit up straight!"

Sanar straightened her back up so she rose inches above everybody else, whom were all slumping as well, though not as clearly as Sanar had been doing.  Mrs. Aranchal was a stout woman with uncreative brown eyes, framed by spectacles in the shapes of trapezoids and flyaway grey hair, which was cropped to the top of her ears.  She was amazingly strict, but supposedly, the older girls said, she grew on you.  Unfortunately, Sanar never seemed to be on her good side.  Mrs. Aranchal was droning on about anaphase, and Sanar was only half-listening, when the bell rang.  "Thank the Charter," muttered Niala, so quietly that only Sanar could hear. They got out of their seats, gathered their textbooks, and hurried to the next class.

During Fighting Arts, the last class of the day, they were just being introduced to staffs (all that happened during the First Form years was falling and basic defense mechanisms).  Sanar had just blocked her opponent, a girl named Imrah, when someone called her name.  She turned around, eyes searching for the speaker, when Imrah gave her a sharp, smarting rap on the head.  

"Ow!" she exclaimed.  "No fair; I was distracted."

"Sanar!" someone called again.  She noticed the voice was coming from the doorway of the gymnasium, where a tall girl stood.  

 "What?" she called back, annoyed that they had diverted her attention.  

"Mrs. Cipuce wants you." 

Sanar stared at the girl, wondering what the headmistress might want with her.  "Cipuce?" she said, her voice trembling.  "What does Cipuce want?"

"_Mrs_. Cipuce," the girl corrected.  "And I don't know, I'm just the messenger.  Don't shoot me."

Sanar tossed her staff to Mrs. Andre, the Fighting Arts instructor, and followed the girl.  They walked in silence down the deserted corridors until they reached the headmistress' office.  The girl, whose badge proclaimed her to be a Fifth Form and a Prefect Secretary, followed her in.  A plump woman with brown hair piled luxuriously on top of her head sat smiling at the desk to greet them.  She had deep brown eyes and full red cheeks, to match her lips.  Sanar bowed her head.  "Mrs. Cipuce."

"Sanar," said the woman in an amazingly rich alto voice.  She nodded for the Prefect Secretary to leave.  "How nice to see you," she said in that same deep voice.  "I called you here to discuss an important matter with you.  You are from the Old Kingdom, no?"  Sanar nodded in agreement.  Mrs. Cipuce sighed.  "And do the girls here at Wyverly…believe you?"  

"Some do," said Sanar slowly, and thought of Sula.  "Others don't."

"How do they not believe you?  I mean to say, what do they say to discourage the fact that you are from the Old Kingdom?"

Sanar shrugged.  "They just say that I'm a little liar and that I'm making it all up."

"Would you like to name names?"

"No, ma'am," said Sanar very quickly, thinking of what Sula might do or say if she tattled.  

"I see," said Mrs. Cipuce, making a small note on her paper.  "That is all for now, except for one more thing, if you wish to see it."  A small smile was forming on the edge of her red lips.  "If you don't mind, Sanar, I think you have a visitor."  She led Sanar into a back room where a tall woman with pale skin and dark hair was sitting.  

"Mother!" cried Sanar, rushing towards the woman and embracing her.  Lirael returned the hug.

"It's good to see you, Sanar."

"It's been ages," murmured Sanar.  "But how did you get here from Belisaere?  Did you walk the entire way?"

Lirael chuckled.  "Walk?  From Belisaere?  Heavens, no.  I took a Paperwing."

Sanar's eyes widened with delight and awe.  "A—A Paperwing?  A real one?  It is still here?  Can I see it?" 

"See it?  You'll be riding in it soon enough."  Sanar looked quizzically at her mother, silently begging for an explanation.  "I'm taking you to the Old Kingdom."

Sanar gasped.  "You are?  But you can't!  It's the middle of the term!  I can't just leave! I'll fail my classes!"

Lirael grinned.  "I obtained Mrs. Cipuce's special permission for you to come with me.  It'll be like you never missed a class."

"Really?  But why are you taking me to the Old Kingdom?  I assume it's not for a vacation and tour, otherwise you would have done it during the summer holidays."

"You assumed right.  But you'll see when we get there.  First, at least, we're going to Belisaere.  You'd better go pack."

"Thank you, Mother!" cried Sanar.  "I'd love to see the Old Kingdom!  Everybody always leaves me here and only visits from time to time!  I barely even remember cousin Sameth!"

Lirael averted her eyes.  "Well, you probably won't see Sam—or Ellimere, either.  They're both away, but you will see Touchstone!  And your home!"

"Yes," murmured Sanar.  "My home."    

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Good, no?  Just in case anybody wants to know, I based Mrs. Aranchal after an exaggeration of mine own science teacher, who coincidentally has a name very similar to that…Also, Mrs. Cipuce's name was taken from how I spelled "seapoose" in our mock spelling bee.  But seriously, what kind of a word is "seapoose"?  Sorry that it's taken me so long to post, when I've actually gotten reviews.  If you would like to check out some of my other work on www.fictionpress.com, I would be grateful.  My penname is the same. 

Lots of huggles!!

Heather


	4. Chapter Four

Sorry for not posting for such a long time!!!!!!  I had a lot to do, and found no time to type this chapter until tonight.  I'll try to crank out the next chapter in a couple of weeks, but there are really no guarantees.  Sorry also about the shortness of this and all the other chapters.  OK, enough notes, just read it!

Disclaimer:  I do not own anyone except Sanar (kinda sorta), Mrs. Cipuce, Eroutte, Matredo, Elixima, and Niala.  And I own the sending-chair!!!!!!  The rest belongs to the brilliant Garth Nix. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 

In Dormitory 263, a small dark-haired girl could be see frantically shoving all of her possessions into a small, beige-colored bag.  She pushed a teacup into the jumble of clothes and random trinkets, but hear that she had failed when she threw in a book entitled 'Learning the Book of the Dead:  A Guide for the Abhorsen-in-Waiting'.  Sanar smiled momentarily at the book.  Sabriel had written it, as a birthday gift to Sanar when she had turned eight.  She took the broken shards out of the bag, trying carefully not to cut her fingers on the delicate porcelain.  When she had removed what she thought was all the shards, her tan bag was nearly splitting at the seams, and her half of the dormitory seemed very bare indeed.  She shouldered the bag with a heave and hastily scribbled a note on a scrap of paper that was lying on her bedside table.

_Niala—_[she wrote]

_I've gone to the Old Kingdom with my mother, who has just arrived at Wyverly.  I do wish you could have met her, because you've only ever met her when we were very small.  However, I do expect that I'll be back soon.  Mother won't say when, but I am guessing that I'll be returning at the start of next term, after the summer holidays.  I'll write to you, I promise.  I suppose I'll be seeing you in a while._

_            —Sanar _

She knew that it was rather lame, and that Niala would want to know everything, but the small bit of parchment got the facts across, however blunt they may seem.  She replaced the quill in the inkpot and stood up.  Everything was in order.  She walked slowly out of the room, taking in every last item, for it was quite probable that she might never see Dormitory 263 again.  She stepped out and fumbled with something in her pocket.  Sanar took out a sharp key with a small tag attached to it that read "263", and locked the door with a satisfying "click".  She raced down the hall and down three flights of stairs until she burst open the doors that lead outside.  Lirael was waiting for her.  She had on green eye goggles, an oilskin tunic, and a scarf bearing the Wyverly colors, black and silver.  She smiled at her only daughter.  

"Ready to go?" said Lirael slyly, a smirk creeping across her windswept face, and whose eyes were carelessly drifting towards Sanar's shoulder, which bore a huge bag upon it.

Sanar glared at her mother.  "Yes, I'm quite read, thank you," she said briskly, with the air of one in a proper tea party.  Lirael did not reply, but merely tossed Sanar some silver lined goggles and a black and silver tunic.  They both bore the Wyverly College insignia, a wyvern (a type of dragon) being tamed by a young maiden, although the picture was so small that it was hard to tell which was the girl and which was the beast.  Sanar wrapped herself in the layers until she resembled something close to a waddling, mumbling pile of laundry.

            "Wenilwibegeddintabalazer?"

            Lirael didn't even have to ask what the dark haired girl had meant.  "We'll be getting to Belisaere in a couple of hours, Sanar.  You don't have to do anything except sit tight." 

            Sanar was tempted to burst out that she could not sit tight, for she could not even sit down with all the clothing she was wearing, and that she was already feeling very tight.  Lirael beckoned for the girl to approach, and she did, cautiously.  Her long black hair was blown across her heavily covered face in all different directions, obscuring her already impaired vision.  "Haduigeddinissing?"

            Lirael didn't seem to hear her, only nudged her daughter in the direction of the aircraft.  It was made out of what looked like millions of sheets of paper, all stuck together to make something that resembled a canoe that had mated with a glider.  Sanar pulled down her scarf and shouted to Lirael, who was readying the Paperwing, "Are you sure this thing can fly?"

            Lirael only nodded to the girl, and climbed inside, situating herself gracefully into a hammock-like fixture.  Sanar skeptically followed her into another seat that was placed behind the driver.  It was not very comfortable, but she could lean back, and she wouldn't have to look down.  She fastened her straps, yelled, "Goodbye, Mrs. Cipuce!" to the headmistress, who was standing outside the door, waving, and then pulled her scarf back up over her face, so only two brown eyes were peering out.  She watched Lirael summon the Charter marks with a bit of difficulty, being as they were in Ancelstierre, and then felt the sensation of flying.  It was nothing like the racket-inducing, clunky airplanes of Wyverly; it was like they were just hovering, and there came no sound from the aircraft itself.  Lirael whispered something to the Paperwing and it immediately took off towards to Old Kingdom.  Sanar saw from a height that she could have only dreamed of before.  She saw Wyverly and Bain beneath them, and then the Perimeter and the Wall, and she could even see part of the Old Kingdom.  Suddenly, a sickening feeling hit her with the force of a stone.  As they were flying over the Wall (Lirael had negotiated with the army so they would not shoot), she realized that only a paper wall separated her from instantaneous death.  Lirael seemed to acknowledge her daughter's fear, and Charter marks flowed from her hand into the girl as she whispered the mark for "sleep".  A relaxing feeling overtook Sanar, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

*  *  *

            The next thing she felt was strong hands unloading her from the hammock.  Sanar looked up into the clear, brown eyes of her uncle, King Touchstone I.  She gasped.  The last time that she had seen Touchstone, he had been strong and healthy, even for his fifties.  Now he seemed old…

            Touchstone recognized the look on her face.  "Not quite the man I used to be, am I?  Well, I supposed when you're 260 years old you wear down a bit, don't you?"  Sanar didn't know what to say, so she merely stared at her feet.  Touchstone smiled knowingly.  "Come on," he said merrily.  "Have you even met Ellimere's children?"

Sanar shook her head.  She knew that Ellimere, the heir to the throne, had a husband and children, whom she had been finding eligible spouses for on her touring, but she had never met any of them, as they had all thought it would be rude to come to Wyverly.

Touchstone looked merrier than ever.  "Come on, then!  They'll be delighted to finally meet you!"

Sanar quietly followed the king, knowing better than to ask where Lirael was.  If her mother was not out Remembering something, then she would be in her chambers, performing some immensely complicated spell.

Touchstone led her through the decorated hallways draped with tapestries of great events, though nothing having to do with Rogir/Kerrigor, into the main hall.  Sanar gasped at its beauty and grandeur.  It seemed to be inlaid with gold, and jewels were set in every available nook and cranny.  There was what looked like a solid gold throne standing at the end of the hall, decorated with a beautiful ruby glaze.  Beside it was another throne, almost exactly like it except silver with a sapphire glaze.  Sanar understood.  This was where the King and Queen sat, and the silver throne was only those colors because, currently, the Queen also happened to be the Abhorsen.  Touchstone smiled at her.

"It used to be tradition for every new King and Queen to make a new throne, and then the old throne went into the Throne Room.  However, it was destroyed and looted in the Fall of Belisaere.  Maybe, if Ellie decides to continue the old traditions, we will have a new Throne Room."  He smiled in a fatherly way at Sanar.  "But now, you need to meet your cousins.  Second cousins," he corrected himself.  "Bera!" he called, and a young maid came running in, her dress a little rumpled.  She looked very out of breath.

"Yes, your Majesty?" she said.

"Bera, I need you to summon all my grandchildren that are staying at the Palace.  Right away, if you please."

Bera nodded briskly. "Yes, your Majesty."

Touchstone nodded courteously to her as she darted out.  "Sit down, Sanar."  Sanar didn't move.  "Please, Sanar," he said.  "I insist."  Sanar didn't even make like she was going to sit down.  Touchstone sighed exasperatedly at her, but couldn't say anything, because three people had just walked into the room.  They were all somewhere in their twenties or thirties, and all tall and lean, two with dark hair.  One, however, was clearly a blonde.  The bearer of the golden locks was a woman, whose honey blonde hair framed her face so it resembled a picture.  The woman had pale skin and brown eyes.  Her cheeks looked like red apples, and her lips seemed too perfect to be real.  She had plucked and darkened eyebrows, so perfect and shapely, a beautiful nose, and extremely long eyelashes.  Sanar, with just one glance at her, decided that she had to be the most beautiful woman that she had ever seen.  However, once Sanar had just looked at her, she could not look away.  It almost burned her eyes to gaze upon the woman.  Her entire face stung, and her eyes felt like they had been splashed with acid and set on fire.  The woman hurt her eyes; she could not look at the woman…

Almost as quickly as the woman had locked Sanar's eyes, they were released.  She rubbed her eyes in pain as the beautiful woman walked to Touchstone, barely even noticing the small dark girl standing at his side.  "You wanted me, Grandfather?" she said airily.

Touchstone smiled.  "Yes, I wanted you all to meet your cousin, Sanar.  He motioned towards Sanar, who was extremely frightened but tried to smile.

The woman smiled flirtatiously, revealing amazingly white teeth under pure red lips, but Sanar sensed that it was also an amazingly fake smile, put on to appease her grandfather, and keep the unspoken title of 'Favorite Grandchild'.  "Charmed, I'm sure," she said, but she was not looking at Sanar.

"Sanar," said Touchstone, glancing around the room, "I want you to meet your second cousins.  Eroutte—" he motioned to the blond woman, who flipped her hair—"Matredo—" he gestured to a tall dark man who didn't smile at him—"and Elixima."  Touchstone waved his hand over to a girl who was nearly the spitting image of an older Sanar.  She had short black hair, cut to her chin, and grey-green eyes.  Her skin was pale, and she almost looked like a younger Sabriel.  All of them were in their late twenties, except for Elixima, who looked to be in her late teens.  The youngest, Elixima, stared interestedly at Sanar, while Eroutte fixed her with a slightly open-mouthed stare that made her look even more ditzy and air-headed than she already seemed to be.  Matredo just glared at her, his left eye just barely twitching as he gazed into her eyes, and she shut them immediately, fearing that she might be unable to look away, like what had happened with Eroutte.  She did not see the sneer playing around his face.

Touchstone smiled cordially at all of them.  "Well, that's all.  Eroutte and Elixima are Ellie's kids, and Matredo is Sam's son.  I just wanted you to meet your youngest cousin.  She'll be staying at the castle, if you wish to talk anymore with her."  He nodded at each of the cousins in turn, and then looked at Sanar and ushered her out of the room.  Once they were out of earshot, he spoke to her.  "Lovely, aren't they?" Sanar could not tell if he was being serious or sarcastic, so, again, she merely stared at her feet.  Touchstone sensed her uneasiness.  "They'll grow on you.  Yes, they are a bit interesting, but once you get to know them, they're great people.  Simply charming, the lot of them.  Well, off to your room."

Sanar was about to say that she had no idea where her room was located when she was whisked off by a couple of sendings, who carried her on something that resembled a sedan chair, but it seemed to be made of the sendings themselves.  She sat in the litter, noticing every twist and turn they took at their high speed, until the door in front of them burst open and they were in a chamber flooded with sunlight.  Sanar parted herself form the sending-chair and walked over to the bed.  It was spread with rich silks and bathed in satins.  Sanar lay down on it, and it enveloped her until she sank into a deep stupor, with no room left in her mind to think about her fairly strange cousins, or anything else.  

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Please review this chapter!!!  That's the entire author note for now, because I still have much to do.  I'll take suggestions on what should happen, because now I personally have no idea where this is headed, except for what I want to happen in the end.  Would anyone like to be my beta? It's fine, but I'd really like other people's input.  That's all, and if I don't post soon, you all have to right to slap me (OK, when I say slap I really mean bombard me with annoying emails and then I might feel more motivated).  That is it!!

Your author,

EowynDernhelm (me)            


	5. Chapter Five

Wow, I haven't updated in…what is it, two months?  Well, here's your present for May: a brand new chapter!!!  You guys are all really cool for keeping up with this even though it's been so long since the last post.  Oh, and a warning about this chapter: Lirael is a bit out of character in the end, and no, you don't see the Dog right now, because she is much too cool for that.  This chapter is extremely short, and really doesn't have any relevance to anything.  Yes, it's probably the worst chapter up, but you people wanted an update, so here it is.  The only thing this chapter does is throw some hints out into the open.  Don't worry, I promise that the next chapter will be action-packed and full of happy-goodness!!

Disclaimer:  I don't own Garth Nix, Sabriel, Lirael, Touchstone, or anything like that.  However, I do own Sanar (sorta), Elixima, Eroutte, and Matredo.  Garth Nix owns all his stuff, including himself and stuff (so descriptive, aren't I?)   

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Sanar awoke to a brightly lit room, and it seemed to be the next morning.  As soon as her eyes blinked open, a sending dragged her out of bed and into a soft red robe, which she wore over her dirty traveling clothes that she had not had time to change out of.  The sending then became a sending-chair and carried her out of the room as fast as it could.

In a few minutes, she was in the Dining Hall, and Touchstone, Lirael, Eroutte, Matredo, and Elixima were all seated there, eating and all clad in robes similar to hers.  However, seeing everyone gathered at this table made Sanar think about Sabriel's death even more.  Why weren't people being sent to look for her?  It hadn't even been a year since her disappearance, and already people seemed to have forgotten about her, and about the fact that she may still have been alive.  Almost in support to Sanar's thoughts, Touchstone smiled at her.  "Ellie's coming back today.  Wrote in her letter that she found enough suitors to fill a colony."  He chuckled.  "But, of course, you can all choose your own spouses.  Ellie just has these crazy ideas hat she can be a diplomat through marriage.  Ridiculous, in my opinion.  Toast, Sanar?" he said, offering her a piece of browned bread.  She shook her head.

"Actually, I'm not really hungry.  The sending just made me get down here.  Could you get them out of my room, by any chance?  They're extremely bothersome."

Touchstone sighed exasperatedly.  "I _told_ them not to pester people!  Some of them never learn…  I'll try to remove them, but some are extremely servile and won't even obey the king.  They have no sense of anything except doing their duty."

After having a slice of fruit, Sanar made for her room, but Lirael grabbed her wrist and gave her a warning look.  "Sanar will be coming with me later.  We need to talk."  If this exchange had taken place in Sanar's Science classroom, everyone would have said, 'Oooooh,' but Touchstone just shrugged.

"Very well."

She left the table quickly and quietly, but did not noticed Eroutte give Matredo a warning glance that clearly said, 'I will talk to you later,' and then proceeded to eat her bacon in an extremely proper way.  Elixima stared suspiciously at her sister before also excusing herself to join Sanar, who was walking down the hallway.  Elixima jogged to catch up with her.  

"So you're Sanar?"  Sanar looked accusingly at the older girl, before silently nodding.  She didn't know why, but she felt like her second cousin was prying.  Elixima's eyes darted distractedly over her shoulder to the table, all of whose occupants were still seated.  "Listen, Sanar, I really shouldn't be seen with you, or Eroutte'll go crazy.  On the subject of Eroutte—be careful around her and Matredo.  They could really make your life a living hell if you get on their bad sides.  And by the way—call me Elix.  Everybody does, and the name Elixima's just too long for everyday use."

Sanar nodded slowly.  Elixima—or Elix—seemed nice enough.  Not like her sister and cousin.

When Sanar was back at her quarters, she had just barely flopped onto the bed when her door burst open.  It was Lirael.

"Ready to go?" she asked her daughter briskly, not noticing that the dark haired girl was trying to get back to sleep.

Sanar looked up with a bored expression on her face.  "Go where, exactly?"

Lirael smiled mischievously.  "It's a secret, of course.  You'll find out when we get there.  We're taking a Paperwing, if that helps."

The twelve-year-old groaned.  "Not another one of those dratted things.  Why can't we just take the bus?"

The older woman laughed.  "There are no buses around here, Sanar.  I thought you might have remembered that, of all things.  But it's no contest. You're going with me and that's that.  I think you'll like it where we're going, but you'd better say goodbye to everyone.  We might not be back for a while."

Sanar's ears perked up, and suddenly she felt as awake and alert as she'd ever be.  "Are we going to go kill Dead…things?"  Now that I'm the Abhorsen-in-Waiting I have to learn these things."

"It might do you well to wait a while until you meddle with Death.  I myself didn't walk in Death until I was nineteen, while when Sabriel was younger than me she was saving the world.  I didn't get to that stage until I was at least twenty."

The girl smiled at her mother's dry sense of humor.  "Are all the Abhorsen glorious and victorious?  Do we always save the world countless times?"

Lirael coughed evasively.  "Well, no.  There are a few Abhorsens who've turned bad, over the years, you know."

"Who?"

"Well, there was always Chl—the few that hunger for power beyond necessity."

"_Chlorr_ was an Abhorsen?"

"Did I say that?  Now, we've got to be saying our goodbyes, because we're leaving today.  You should pack, too."

Sanar groaned again and walked after her mother.  They would have, of course, said farewell to Sabriel first, but since the entire palace was thinking it taboo to mention her, they did not.  Nobody would even hold a proper funeral or memorial for the former Queen and Abhorsen.  

Lirael walked to the Throne Room and said goodbye to Touchstone, while Sanar nodded her head, still a little intimidated by her uncle.  The cousins were nowhere to be seen.  Sanar followed Lirael to the airfield, where a Paperwing, painted red and gold, was resting.  "The sendings have already gotten you your bags—the clothes are all clean, and being the anal-retentive little creatures they are, I've no doubt that they've sorted them by color and season.  Come on, now."

Sanar cautiously approached the Paperwing, arms outstretched in front of her face.  Was it possible for someone to be mauled by an aircraft?  But no, she climbed into the cockpit and shut her eyes, hoping that this journey wouldn't be as bad as the last one.                      

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Bit of a boring chapter, wasn't it?  Oh, well, the next one (as soon as I write it) will be much better.  I believe that's it, and you might get the next chapter anywhere from in one week to a few months, but it will be there sooner or later (thought:  a 100-year old me, sitting at the computer, saying 'Ha!  They didn't think I'd put chapter six up, but I did! Ha!') !!!!  That's all for now!!

—Heather (moi!)


End file.
